


And the Mask Slips

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: Kinktober 2018 [1]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Masquerade Ball, just a little touch of angst at the end, kinktober day one: masks, so arguably they're underage but not really?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 07:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16154816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Ian has been watching the butterfly boy dance.





	And the Mask Slips

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic of kinktober, and the prompt was "masks." Masquerade ball was where I gravitated. If you google Venetian butterfly masks, you'll get an idea of what Harry is wearing. They're gorgeous and I love them.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

Ian couldn’t honestly say he was comfortable, but at least it was impossible to see his face. People swirled around the room, a rainbow of colourful dresses interspersed with black suits, but no one approached him. And that was probably for the best. He hadn’t wanted to go to the masquerade in the first place. Dances seemed a bit juvenile at their age – and, admittedly, he was fairly certain most of the older boys had already snatched up their lovely companions from their academy’s sister school and made off into the night, or, at least, the nearest corner where they couldn’t be observed. But attendance was mandatory, and Ian wasn’t going to jeopardize his scholarship because he wasn’t fond of the extracurriculars.

He hated the mask he was wearing but taking it off was probably more hassle than it was worth anyway. The feathers at the top of it kept tangling in his messy hair, and the only thing less dignified than hiding in the corner of the ballroom, shoulders hunched and fist curled tightly around a ridiculously ornate glass – no, _chalice_ – of punch would be spilling said punch down the front of his suit while he swore and tried to untangle a bunch of feathers snarled into his hair.

He hated the suit almost as much as the mask, and he wished he were wearing a kilt. But a masquerade meant concealing an identity, and besides, Ian got made fun of enough for his thick Scottish accent without adding a “skirt” into the mix.

“You’re not dancing.”

The voice was soft. Ian didn’t recognize it, but then, he kept to himself more often than not. He turned, and nearly got his eye poked out by a curved wire wing. As he recognized the silver and blue butterfly mask, Ian flushed red and hoped his own eagle design concealed the worst of it.

Silently, he shook his head.

“You’ve been watching me,” the other boy prompted. He was tall, about as tall as Ian, although he was growing into his long limbs with much more grace than Ian was. Behind the mask, thick brown curls poked out, artfully sculpted.

Ian was tongue-tied, but he nodded. He had been watching.

The butterfly boy had caught Ian’s eye almost immediately. Ian had slunk into the party, perfectly on-time with the intent to leave the precise moment it was over, and after a few minutes of wandering in search of the snack table, he’d turned just in time to see the flashes of silver glinting in the low light as the other boy had made a fashionably late entrance. His suit matched the mask; blue accents brightened up the otherwise drab black and white, making them appear sharper in contrast. Ian had retired to his corner and openly stared, ducking down to his punch cup intermittently. And the butterfly boy had noticed, had used the opportunity to sidle up to Ian when he wasn’t paying attention.

Now, faced with Ian’s silence, the butterfly boy’s lips curled up in a smile. He offered out his hand. “I’m Harry.”

Ian licked his lips to wet them, and his own name stuck in his throat before he managed to force it out. “Ian.” He took Harry’s hand.

Rather than shake it, Harry curled his other hand around Ian’s too, cradling it in a gesture that might have seemed innocent, were it not for that sly smile on his lips. “Ian,” he purred, drawing the name out in a way that was almost obscene. “Would you like to dance with me?”

Ian yanked his hand away and took a step back for good measure. Rather than follow, Harry’s brow drew into a frown, and he stepped back as well. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought-“

Ian shook his head. “It’s not-“ He searched frantically for the words. “I can’t…not like that…not in front of everyone.” Ian had no qualms about being gay, but not everyone thought like that. He couldn’t risk it.

And Harry understood. He nodded.

Feeling brave, Ian added, “You weren’t wrong. I was watching you. I thought you were beautiful.”

The smile returned. Dazzled, Ian thought there was an awful lot he would do to keep Harry smiling at him. Then he wondered if someone had spiked the punch.

Harry held out his hand again, and when Ian took it after a moment’s hesitation, Harry drew him out of the room, down half-lit hallways and around several twisting corners that Ian knew by the light of day but felt completely foreign at night. “In here,” Harry murmured, pushing Ian in front of him and closing the door behind them, a lock clicking into place.

The room they’d ducked into was small, and Ian squinted into the darkness. Harry reached up and pulled on a cord, and a bulb overhead flickered weakly, casting a faint orange glow over the tiny space, revealing a storage closet. Ian had to appreciate the irony.

Harry took a step forward, into Ian’s personal space, and tilted his head slightly. “May I kiss you?”

Ian’s breath caught in his throat. He swallowed several times before his mouth began to work again. “We don’t…we don’t know each other.”

Harry grinned. “And doesn’t that make it exciting?”

There was definitely a thrill running through Ian, but he wasn’t sure if it was excitement or anxiety, a fear of getting caught alone, in a closet, with a strange boy. “Someone might come looking for us.”

“They’re all too busy at the dance,” Harry murmured. He took another step forward, so they were chest to chest, less than an inch apart.

And Ian kissed him.

It was a terrible first kiss. Their masks clacked together, and their lips didn’t quite meet properly, and Harry drew back quickly. Ian opened his mouth to apologize, but Harry was grinning, and he lifted the butterfly mask from his face, revealing beautiful brown eyes. Ian vaguely recognized him as a fellow sixth former, although they’d never really had occasion to speak.

Fingers trembling, he lifted his hands to his own mask, but Harry caught his wrists. “You don’t have to,” he murmured, as if sensing Ian’s unease. He leaned in again, and this kiss was perfect. Ian’s knees went weak, and he would most likely have fallen into the shelving unit behind him had Harry not wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him close. He swiped his tongue over Ian’s bottom lip, and Ian opened his mouth, allowing him entrance. It felt a bit strange – he’d never done this with anyone else before, only fantasized about it – but so, so good, and Ian gripped at Harry’s shoulders, needing something to hold on to.

He was hard, he realized belatedly. His blood was pumping furiously, and there was a familiar heat pooling in his groin as Harry pressed closer, an answering hardness pressing against Ian’s thigh through their trousers. Ian shuddered, and Harry broke their kiss, nipping one last time at Ian’s lower lip before sliding to his knees.

This time Ian did stumble into the shelf, clinging to the metal bars to keep himself upright. “Harry,” he whispered, half a question, half a plea.

Harry grinned up at him, then nuzzled into his crotch. Ian’s eyes slammed closed, and he felt gentle hands undo his trousers, heard the pull of a zipper. He sucked in a sharp breath as Harry’s fingers closed around him, pulling his cock out and rubbing his thumb over the head of it curiously. He glanced up at Ian again. “Relax.”

Ian couldn’t have relaxed if he’d tried. “I-“ he stammered.

“Open your eyes, Ian.”

He pried them open. Harry was still grinning at him, completely unruffled, and the truth spilled over Ian’s lips. “I’ve never done this before.”

A flicker of doubt crossed Harry’s face, and he leaned back on his heels, letting go of Ian’s cock. It slapped up against his stomach, leaving a spot of wetness on his dress shirt, but Ian couldn’t bring himself to care. “We don’t have to do this,” Harry said, and the concern in his voice was touching.

“I want to,” Ian said. He hadn’t really thought about it before that moment, but suddenly the only thing he wanted in life was Harry’s hand back on his cock.

Harry did one better. Sufficiently reassured, he curled one hand around the back of Ian’s knee and the other around the base of his cock. Then he wrapped his lips around the head and sucked.

Ian bit down on his fist to keep from crying out. Harry bobbed down, taking another few inches into his mouth before drawing off and doing it again. Ian couldn’t breathe. He let go of the shelf in favour of grabbing a fistful of Harry’s hair, his fingers tangling into thick curls, slightly stiff from product. Harry didn’t seem to mind; quite the reverse, the gesture made him moan and suck Ian deeper, until the head of Ian’s cock hit the back of his throat.

“ _Oh_ ,” Ian gasped, the sound muffled by his fist.

Without pulling off, Harry glanced up at him, reaching up to grab Ian’s other hand and pull it down towards his head. As Ian took another handful of hair, both of Harry’s hands went to Ian’s thighs, coaxing him forward. Ian got the message and tugged lightly, experimentally.

Harry moaned again, the vibrations skating up and down Ian’s spine, settling in his balls, which were already starting to draw up close to his body as his orgasm tightened in his gut. Ian tugged again, and Harry’s jaw went slack, allowing Ian to fuck carefully into his mouth. He kept the thrusts shallow at first, but as his orgasm drew closer they became rougher, deeper, until he was shoving his cock down Harry’s throat, Harry’s gag reflex relaxing around him.

Ian’s head started to go a bit fuzzy as pleasure overtook him. He was beyond words, but as he felt the pressure building he tried to tug Harry off, the only warning he could give. Harry fought his grip, swallowing him to the root, his throat flexing around Ian’s cock as Ian started to come.

Harry pulled back before he started to choke, keeping just the head in his mouth and drinking down the semen that pulsed across his tongue. When Ian slumped back against the shelf, shaking slightly but utterly spent, Harry sat back on his heels, drew his pocket square from his suit, and wiped delicately at his mouth. The contradiction of the image, Harry so prim and proper after he’d just sucked Ian off, was enough to make an incredulous laugh bubble up in Ian’s throat.

Harry glanced up at him, head cocked curiously. Ian hesitated, and then helped him up, reaching down to the front of Harry’s trousers. They weren’t tented anymore, and for the first time Harry blushed as Ian’s fingers met wet fabric. He cleared his throat and pushed Ian’s hand away gently. “It’s alright,” he murmured. “I…”

Had Ian not come mere seconds ago, he probably could have gotten hard again just from the thought of Harry getting off on giving a blow job. Instead, he carded his fingers through Harry’s hair, hesitating a moment before leaning in the kiss him, tasting himself on Harry’s lips. Harry melted against him, keeping the kiss surprisingly chaste.

When they broke apart, Harry said, “Thank you.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that?” Ian quipped.

But Harry looked serious, and there was something else in his eyes, a spark of something that Ian told himself was just a trick of the lighting. “I mean it,” he said. “Thank you.” He reached out, and for a moment Ian thought he would try to remove the mask, still bound across Ian’s eyes, but Harry merely brushed back an errant strand of hair. “I should go,” he said.

Ian nodded silently. He didn’t want Harry to leave, but they couldn’t stay. Harry shot him one last smile and then unlocked the closet door. He placed the butterfly mask back over his face and then slipped out, the door closing with a click behind him. Ian fixed his trousers, tucking himself away and praying there weren’t any noticeable stains on the fabric. Then he reached up and, after a moment of fumbling for the cord, turned off the light.

Years later, Harry Hart would find an eagle mask amongst his husband’s belongings, tucked away in a box of old school things and half-forgotten. He would smile, half fond, half sad, and think about how improbable it had been that he was both the first and the last man that Merlin had ever loved.

He would return the mask to the box, and place a nearly-lost, silver and blue butterfly mask next to it, and leave them both to gather dust.


End file.
